


Freckles

by Anoke



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Anti-Witcher Prejudice, De-Aged Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Angst, Gen, and now everyone is facing it, any other standard warnings about talking about the way Witchers are made and trained, dancing around the kaer morhen massacre, geralt is a soft boy, ginger!geralt, he was the sweetest damn kid, it is ACTUALLY gen but holy shit does bby!poly!Geralt have some Big Damn Crushes, listen: geralt has ALL THE DAMN FEELS, mentions of child death, mentions of euthanasia, no beta we die like renfri, what is this Plot of which you speak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoke/pseuds/Anoke
Summary: Geralt ends up caught in a curse that returns him to a much, much younger age. His friends try not to die of cute. Geralt tries not to die of how goddamn pretty all his friends are.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 190
Kudos: 475





	1. Changes

There's a terrifying and dramatic flash of light, and when Jaskier can see straight again—there's a boy, standing where Geralt was. Swimming in Geralt's clothes.

Jaskier takes a step forward and the kid twitches away, taking a fight-ready stance even as his breeches slide down his thighs.

The boy is lanky and gawky, although he has quite a bit of muscle. His long hair is red, red like autumn leaves, and his skin is deathly pale, with constellations of freckles fading out across his nose and visible shoulder and slightly knobby knees.

His eyes—

His eyes are slit-pupiled and gold.

Jaskier swallows. Melitele preserve him, the boy can't be older than fourteen, and he might just be younger.

"Geralt?" he asks, just to confirm what he already knows.

The boy's eyes narrow and he frowns in confusion.

"What's going on?" he asks.

 _Yeah, that's Geralt,_ Jaskier thinks, frantically. His voice isn't nearly so deep, _dear sweet fuck he hasn't even gone through **puberty** yet._

Geralt shifts again, ready to leap.

Jaskier clears his throat and slowly raises his hands in a placating gesture.

"You were inspecting something that you said was magic. There was a flash of light and, well, when I could see again—" he waves a hand.

Geralt considers this. His eyes flick down to the clothes falling off of him for just a second. He looks like he might be biting the inside of his cheek. "So I'm not supposed to be like this," he says.

"Well, that's something of a matter of contention, the whatever-it-was may have been meant to do exactly this—" Geralt frowns at him again. Jaskier can tell he's trying to be intimidating but the expression is far more of a pout than anything. "But yes, I know you as an adult Witcher. I'm one of your friends."

"Witchers don't have human friends," Geralt says, still clearly suspicious, and Jaskier's heart hurts over it. 

"Where's Eskel?" Geralt continues before Jaskier can say anything. "This isn't Kaer Morhen, but—" and he cuts off and he looks so worried and _scared._

"Eskel's alive," Jaskier says quickly. "It's only been about a month since we split up."

The relief and excitement that tiny Geralt is clearly trying not to display also hurts.

"I want to see him," Geralt says.

Jaskier thinks for a moment. "I think we can probably find him on our way to try and get this fixed," he says.

"How are you planning to do that?" Geralt asks, suspicious again. 

"You," Jaskier says, just a little teasing, "happen to have the regard of a very powerful sorceress. She'll hopefully have an idea of how to help. Now, I haven't been involved in a ton of curse-related contracts; do we try and take whatever affected you, or do we leave it here?"

Geralt looks like he's chewing on his cheek again, and he looks down at his chest, bringing one hand up to grasp his medallion. "Whatever magic there was, I don't think it's… active, any more." He looks at the table. "I don't know what it might've been, though."

Jaskier walks over, trying to project nonthreatening as much as he can. Geralt's eyes stay glued to him the entire time, but he doesn't flinch back.

Jaskier can't tell what might have set this off either, but he gathers everything on the little tabletop anyway—old cosmetics cases, a comb and brush, a small metal mirror, a jewelry box—and looks at Geralt. 

"Warn me if any of this is about to go off again, will you?" he says with a smile.

Geralt's eyes flick around his face like he doesn't know where to look.

"We should head back to our supplies, I may have some pants that'll fit you better than that," Jaskier continues when Geralt stays quiet. 

The boy nods and steps out of the puddle of breeches at his feet—slides right out of his boots as well—and gathers them in his arms.

Jaskier sets off back towards where they left Roach, Geralt trailing behind him.

Jaskier thinks he hears a soft gasp when they come into view of the mare, and suppresses a grin. Anyone who spends all of five minutes in the company of Geralt and an animal can tell that he loves them, but hearing him actually gasp over seeing his horse is almost painfully adorable.

"That's Roach," he says, nodding at her. "She's yours."

"Really?" Geralt breathes, sounding like he didn't mean to say anything at all.

"Really. You should probably get reacquainted, but be careful, she's a biter."

Geralt puts down his (now neatly folded) breeches and boots and walks over to the mare, hitching his shirt up so it's not falling off his freckled shoulders.

"Hey, Roach," Jaskier hears him murmur as he approaches, hand flat and partially extended. Roach watches, apparently placid, until Geralt gets in range, then strikes like the metaphorical viper she is.

Geralt, however, is both forewarned and has superior reflexes from the (already present, gods) mutations and snatches his hand out of the way easily.

"Gonna have to do better than that," he says, and Jaskier can see a little smile on his face.

Roach snorts derisively but then freezes. She snorts again and takes a step closer to Geralt, sniffing.

Geralt reaches out again and gently strokes her nose, breathing into her nostrils. Roach moves until her face is pressed against Geralt's chest and starts snuffling at him.

Geralt _giggles_ as she nudges at him, and starts stroking her neck.

Jaskier turns to his bags and starts digging through his clothes to stop from making a very embarrassing noise or maybe just crying.

Jaskier's not that much shorter than adult Geralt, but he's definitely skinnier, and he can turn up the legs to make up the height difference between him and kid Geralt…

"Aha," he says as he pulls out a pair of red silk trousers. They're heavily brocaded but beggars can't be choosers. "Geralt, I think I have some pants for you."

Geralt looks dubious about the pattern, but with the leg cuffs turned up a few times, the waist turned down a few more, and a slightly improvised belt, they fit well enough.

"I'm also going to need a tracing of your feet," Jaskier adds, pulling out his notebook and pencil.

"What? Why?" Geralt asks, suspicious again.

"We need to get you some shoes," Jaskier says, "and I don't think we should let anyone see your eyes. People are still uneasy about Witchers, _despite_ my efforts, and I don't think letting them see a child Witcher would be a good idea what with—" Jaskier stops himself short.

"I'm not a _child,_ exactly," Geralt says, a little petulant.

Jaskier bites his tongue and just says "You look more like one than you do a grown man."

Geralt is clearly aware that he can’t argue against that but just as clearly isn’t happy about it. In short, he’s pouting again. Jaskier has to stop himself from reaching out to poke at Geralt’s face, mostly because the kid could probably remove the offending finger from Jaskier’s hand entirely, and this Geralt doesn't have nearly the same stores of affection-based tolerance to Jaskier as the adult Geralt does.

“Come on, foot on page,” Jaskier says, putting the notebook down on the ground. Geralt gives it a dubious look but steps on it obligingly. Jaskier starts tracing.

“You can put a hand on my shoulder if you want,” Jaskier says, but Geralt doesn’t take him up on it.

Jaskier’s finished the first tracing and is starting the second when Geralt speaks again.

“What did you mean, 'what with'?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier has to mentally rewind through the last couple of minutes before he realizes. Oh no. Oh no no no he is _not_ going to tell this child about the massacre at Kaer Morhen if he can help it. And, depressingly, he has a different and completely true excuse.

“What with the rumors ignorant people keep perpetuating about Witchers stealing children to turn them into monsters,” Jaskier says, and watches Geralt’s face fall. _Shit._

“Right,” Geralt says, quietly.

“Any preferences for clothes?” Jaskier asks, trying to return to a lighter topic. “I mean, regrettably I won’t be able to get you anything quite as fashionable as my things in the village, but I can at least keep it in mind for if they’re available.”

Geralt’s looking at him like he’s a completely alien creature. Come on, Jaskier _knows_ Witchers occasionally express style preferences, although it’s like pulling teeth to get them to admit it.

All the same, he’s just about to give up when Geralt ducks his head and mutters, “I like blue.”

Jaskier _beams._ “Blue it is then!”

***

They travel along, Geralt riding Roach, until they're just a little ways out of the village.

"Wait here for me?" Jaskier asks. "I may be some time, finding things to buy, and they may request some music. I'll keep it as short as I can, but it's better not to draw too much attention."

Geralt nods firmly, but shifts slightly—it’s only noticeable because Roach sidles a little too. “How long before I should worry?” he asks, sounding slightly embarrassed.

Jaskier considers, adds on several hours to his estimate, then subtracts a few because he doesn’t want to scare the kid. “Let’s say midnight is when you should discreetly check the inn, okay? It’ll be dark enough by then that people won’t really notice your eyes if you’re not staring at them.”

“And if you’re not there?” the kid asks.

Jaskier has to think about that for a second. “Use your best judgement. If you can find me and I’m not in too much trouble—which, with any luck at all, I won’t be—please do feel free to remind me of any number of fictional duties. If the worst happens, head either for Kaer Morhen and talk to Vesemir or for Vengerberg in Aedirn and look for a Yennefer—I know you want to find Eskel, but Vesemir or Yen are your best bets if I’m not able to help you.”

Geralt nods, very seriously, but Jaskier can see how wide his eyes are and he vows to be back as soon as he can fucking manage.

“But it’s very unlikely that there’s going to be a problem,” he says. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Geralt says, and Jaskier can almost feel the kid watching him all the way into town.

***

Jaskier hurries as much as he can through his tasks. When he announces his intentions at the inn—claiming the clothes are for a poor cousin of his who needs look his best to interview for a servant’s position at the local lord’s castle—two or three locals suppose they might have something of quality. He bades they bring them by, and begins playing a jaunty tune to encourage more custom. It’s just the time in the afternoon when men who do work other than in the fields begin to have free time, and so just the right time for a shorter performance to begin.

The villagers bring by potentially suitable clothes, and word spreads of a bard in town, which brings more villagers and more clothes.

Jaskier selects and pays for one wide-brimmed hat, two pairs of pants that should fit, three shirts that should be close enough, and a pair of boots that match Geralt's feet as closely as he can manage. He errs on the side of larger rather than smaller, given it's much easier to take clothes in than let them out.

The pants are undyed, but one of the shirts is a dark blue.

Jaskier plays another hour, then bows out, claiming the need to be on his way again before dark. There’s some grumbling and complaining from the villagers, but nothing that seems ill-natured to Jaskier. He still takes a circuitous route to where he left Geralt and Roach.

At first he doesn’t see Geralt anywhere, just Roach with her reins looped over a low branch on a tree. His heart jumps into his throat, even as his brain starts catching up and telling him that any ambush would have also affected Roach. 

He leaps about a foot when Geralt drops out of a nearby tree. Geralt blinks at him a few times, clearly confused.

“You startled me a little, darling,” Jaskier says, and he’s about ready to bite his tongue off at the unintended endearment. Before he can apologize, though, he notices Geralt has ducked his head and the tips of his ears, just barely visible through his hair, are turning pink. This time he does succeed in stifling a noise of delight—he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Geralt blush before.

“Sorry,” Geralt mutters through the curtain of his hair.

“No need to apologize,” Jaskier chirps. “More on point, my excursion was a success!” He holds up the bundle of clothes. “These should fit better than what you have now, and do tell me how the boots fit. I don’t want you getting blisters.”

Geralt walks over and takes the clothes, and strips with almost the exact same unselfconscious disregard as the adult Geralt— the single exception is that he turns around.

He puts on the blue shirt. Jaskier can’t help smiling.

The pants fit almost exactly, but the shirts are a little big. Geralt makes a slightly surprised noise as he pulls on the boots.

“These fit really well,” he says.

“That’s what I got the foot tracings for,” Jaskier says, pleased.

Geralt looks very serious for a moment, then blurts out “thank you.”

Jaskier beams at him. “You are most welcome, my dear Witcher!”

That gets him another head-duck and probable blush, which Geralt turns into picking up the discarded clothes.

Jaskier is _absolutely_ going to abuse this new ability. He is not strong enough to resist. However, he can wait a little while before he does it again.

"I think we should try and ride a little further before we stop for the evening," he says, accepting his pants back from Geralt and putting them away.

Geralt nods, very seriously, and mounts Roach.

They travel in companionable peace past the village and further along the road, Jaskier playing a number of instrumental pieces softly on his lute. He thinks he notices Geralt humming, very quietly, to a few of the oldest compositions.

They’re an hour or so past the village and well into dusk before Jaskier calls a halt. Geralt rubs down Roach while Jaskier gathers wood and then lights it himself when he sees a touch of blank fear in Geralt’s eyes. The look fades, and Jaskier’s heart hurts at how little training the boy must have, if he’s panicking over not being able to perform a sign.

Dinner is some bread and cheese, oldest of what they’re carrying with them. Nonetheless, there’s a small crease in Geralt's brow that only eases when Jaskier, casting for the right words, calls the meal a good one for the road.

 _Hell._ Geralt is still so obviously conscientious of his traveling companions’ needs. Another glimpse of familiarity in the far too readable kid.

When they’ve finished and banked the fire, Jaskier doesn’t leave anything to question.

“Here, sleep next to me. We can share blankets,” he says, and watches Geralt go though several intense emotions before he acquiesces with a nod, spreading his bedroll next to Jaskier’s. 

They fall asleep facing each other.


	2. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bby geralt’s tiny pansexual brain, as of this chapter: pretty man wears makeup?? EXTRA pretty?!?!
> 
> Also, for your perusal: someone else was thinking about Geralt as a kid and drew an AMAZING picture!  
> https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/post/613258805079359488/after-the-trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My triumphant return, folks! Next chapter after this will probably take a good while, since I haven't even started on it yet, but dammit I WILL finish this!

Jaskier does his best, apropos of, well, everything.

He has some extremely intense _feelings_ , tracking down Eskel with a tiny Geralt, is what he’s saying. He’s well and truly aware that this Geralt is not the adult Witcher that he knows, thank you, but now he can _see_ the original material, as it were, and it’s. Well. It’s fucking tragic, if he’s completely honest with himself. He knows Geralt wouldn’t _want_ to be anything but what he is, and the younger version that has been bestowed upon him is still too far along to be anything but, but. But. When Geralt curls up against him in his sleep, when he giggles or even laughs aloud, expresses excited curiosity—when he shows himself to not be as hurt as the adult version is, by far too many years of hatred and disdain… well.

Their travels are going well enough, anyway. They're not sleeping in towns, but they're riding through them, checking notice boards and keeping their ears open for news of Eskel. Jaskier's pretty sure the other Witcher is heading into Aedirn, actually, which is a blessing.

Not that he doesn’t absolutely adore Geralt as he is right now, as much as he ever has the adult Witcher, but they’ve had a couple of close calls, and Jaskier refuses to put other Witchers in danger too over the wrong person noticing Geralt’s eyes. They might forgive him, but Jaskier knows he would never forgive himself.

Geralt has proved to still be highly adept at hunting; he can kill a rabbit from fifty feet away with a sling, and between that and their knowledge of herbcraft—Jaskier’s such knowledge admittedly picked up from the adult version of Geralt—they’re eating well. Geralt’s eating almost as much as he does as an adult, actually.

The first night, when the kid had demolished entirely half of the rabbit they’d roasted with early garlic and tried not to give longing looks to the rest of it on the spit, Jaskier had laughed quietly and handed all but the leg he’d been eating to Geralt. The poor darling had started, but he’d murmured thanks and set to the rest with the same enthusiasm. Jaskier suggested stepping up hunting after that, and he spent a little additional coin in the two towns they’d traveled though for bread, cheese, and cured meat, which he quietly stored in Roach’s saddlebags and just as quietly watched disappear. He’s happy to make sure Geralt is getting enough to eat—and in fact, this makes him wonder if the _adult_ Geralt is truly getting enough—but the poor boy is even more skittish about his mutations and their demands than Jaskier’s seen in literal decades.

Of course, it’s only been a week. It’s been a very long time since Jaskier first set out on this wild adventure with Geralt of Rivia, and while he has an excellent memory, he can of course be forgiven for not remembering just how _nervous_ his Witcher was around him in the very beginning.

This afternoon, they ride into a tiny little settlement just north of the Dyfne. It’s much the same as the other two small towns they’ve ridden though; no notice board, since the residents mostly can’t read, but a tiny inn, or rather large house, that serves ale and that provides local gossip.

Jaskier looks to Geralt; the kid shrugs slightly and twitches Roach’s reins to lead her to the hitching post outside the inn. Jaskier assesses the building; thatched roof, very few windows, very likely a lack of additional lighting in the interior. They should be just fine if they both go in for a short time, especially because, as it turns out, Geralt excels at avoiding eye contact.

Jaskier raps out a tune on the door, and not thirty seconds later it swings open to reveal a wonderfully muscled peasant woman. She is perhaps forty, by Jaskier’s reckoning. Her hair is tucked beneath a kerchief, but Jaskier spies a few wisps of black escaping, and she has a collection of laugh lines on her tanned face and crow’s feet at the corners of her gray eyes.

Jaskier sketches a slight bow.

“Madam, my nephew and I were passing through your town, but upon witnessing the sign advertising your fine establishment, I decided we simply had to stop in for an ale to cut the road dust from our throats,” Jaskier says.

The woman gives them both an assessing look. Geralt tilts his head up slightly to let the woman see him smile, but then walks around Roach’s side, stroking her heck.

“Hm,” she says. “Well, come in if you’re coming.” She stands aside in the doorway.

“Julian,” Geralt says, using Jaskier's given name so as not to identify him as 'that bard who travels with a Witcher', “I’d actually like to check over Roach’s tack and her hooves. Can I stay out here?”

Jaskier turns to him and says, “of course. Just don’t wander off, we’ve a ways yet to go.”

Geralt nods, the brim of his hat bobbing.

Jaskier swings around and heads indoors. The woman follows behind, shutting the door as she does, plunging the room into near-darkness after the brilliance of the spring sun outside. Jaskier moves to the side slightly and waits for his eyes to adjust.

They’re in a large main room; there’s a countertop set up along the back, which the woman is walking over to. There are three tables, a large fireplace, and a huge straw-tick mattress for guests who stay overnight. There’s a doorway to another room that’s probably a kitchen, and another with an actual door that probably leads to the woman’s own room.

Jaskier follows the woman to the countertop as she pulls out a mug and takes the top off of a barrel of beer.

“And where might you and your nephew be going?” she asks as she collects a dipper.

Jaskier clears his throat. “In fact, madam, we are… attempting to locate some aid. You see, in our hometown, there have been… deaths. Unnatural ones.” He gives her a worried look. “My brother prevailed upon me to deliver his son to an arranged apprenticeship, to try and get him clear of it at least. However, I couldn’t help thinking… I have coin, and I would be willing to spend it, to see the end of this… _curse_ plaguing my home.”

The woman gives him a sidelong glance as she fills his mug. It isn’t a discouraging expression, however, so Jaskier continues.

“I must be honest, I’ve been following rumors of...” Jaskier drops his voice to a whisper, “a Witcher.”

The woman pauses for just a moment and finishes filling the mug. As she sets it down on the tabletop, she leans in slightly.

“You’re on the right path,” she says. “One of ‘em came through this morning. Asked if we had any work for him, left politely enough when I told him we’d none.”

Jaskier lets himself brighten up. “Truly? Oh, thanks to Lebioda, perhaps our nightmare can end! Did you see where he was headed?”

The peasant woman nods. “Aye, he was headed south, towards the river. I don’t know that he’d get so far as to cross it today, he didn’t appear to be in any great hurry. If he did, you might get more information from Fark, he lives near the ford.”

“Thank you, my good woman,” Jaskier says, allowing relief to flood his expression. He slides an extra coin across the table with a wink.

The woman is too sensible for maidenly blushes, but she smiles at him with genuine amusement. “Ah, a charming gentleman indeed.”

“I do so endeavor to be,” Jaskier says with a slightly played-up smile.

She catches on and flaps a hand at him. “Now, now, finish your drink and on with you. You’ve a town to save.”

Jaskier salutes her with the mug and takes a deep draught. It’s a small beer, more mash than liquid, but it’s on the better than average side of the drinks he’s had on his long ramblings across the Continent. He doesn’t chug it, but he absolutely does not linger, burning with the desire to get moving again.

Geralt is quiet and rather pensive when Jaskier exits the inn, but they’re on the road out before he speaks.

“How do you do that?” he asks.

“Do what?” Jaskier asks in return, a little confused.

“Be all—” Geralt gestures a little, trying to find words. “Charming. Get people to like you.”

Jaskier blinks at him, a touch blindsided. He’s used to how good Geralt’s hearing is, but he wasn’t expecting this question.

Geralt waits a few moments, then ducks his head, and Jaskier can just _tell_ that he’s about to mutter ‘never mind’ and then they’ll be two steps back again.

“What works for me won’t work for everyone,” he blurts instead. Geralt’s head picks up a little. 

“I work very hard to come off as nonthreatening,” Jaskier continues, trying desperately to marshal his thoughts but keep talking. “My boyish face helps, but it’s also body language, clothing, tone of voice… and what works for me may come off as incongruous on other people. I suppose the base of how I charm is just. Being kind.”

Geralt gives him a look that’s mixed curiosity and desperation. The poor mite _has_ been having a hard time of it lately, hasn’t he? He hasn’t been facing the same discrimination he does as an adult, but when Jaskier asked after Witchers in the last town they’d been run out with every effort minus the pitchforks: and yet when Jaskier catches Geralt off-guard he chatters like the child he is, open and friendly and oh so vulnerable.

Right, being kind. “I find something to _like_ about people I meet, no matter how small it is. And I can be kind when I like somebody, and sincere about it, and people often read that.”

Geralt thinks on that for a minute. “That seems too simple.”

Jaskier laughs quietly. “There is a fair bit more to it, but that’s the heart of it. Sincerity and a desire to be kind.”

Geralt just responds with a “hmm,” so much like his adult self that Jaskier can only just stifle another bout of laughter.

Dusk is upon them and they’re within hearing distance of the river when Roach neighs, which startles both of them. There’s an answering whinny from off the road, in the woods. Geralt looks confused for several moments, but then perks up, possibly at something Jaskier can’t hear (or smell) at this range.

Look, he is perfectly willing to admit the inferiority of his senses.

Geralt looks excitedly at Jaskier, who waves him on with a flick of his hand, guessing what this is about. Geralt urges Roach into the woods, and Jaskier has to run as best as he can through the underbrush to keep up.

It takes them less than three minutes to come upon a small camp. There’s a familiar figure in very familiar armor standing there warily next to an equally-familiar horse.

" _ESKEL!_ " Geralt shrieks, sliding off of Roach in one long movement, losing his hat, and throwing himself into Eskel's arms.

" _Geralt?_ " Eskel says, catching Geralt and wrapping the skinny kid up in an embrace. Jaskier has literally never heard Eskel sound like that before. Ever. He’s not even sure how to categorize it.

Eskel’s head snaps up and he looks at Jaskier.

“Some form of spell or curse,” Jaskier provides. “I’m not sure what caused it. I suggested we go find Yennefer, but he wanted to see you first. He doesn’t remember himself as an adult.”

Eskel makes a quiet noise and looks down at the boy in his arms again. He raises a hand and gently cups the back of Geralt’s head, pulling him in closer.

"Oh gods, look at you," Eskel murmurs, running a hand through Geralt's hair. "I'd almost forgotten what color your hair was."

Geralt makes a questioning noise.

Eskel smiles, gently. "Your hair's going to start growing in white. Our little white wolf."

"I had wondered," Jaskier comments, very quiet.

Eskel glances at him. "Yeah. Right after the second round of mutations. In fact—" he draws back Geralt's part, as Geralt makes a face. "You can see it starting here. Must be just short of twelve—you always thought your birth date was in autumn," he adds to Geralt.

Jaskier wants to speak but trips over his tongue. _Second_ round of mutations? Geralt isn't even _twelve?_

“We’re going to have to find a way to hide that,” Eskel says, frowning. “I might be able to whip up a temporary dye of some kind.”

Geralt pulls another face and Jaskier snaps out of his mild shock.

“I believe I may have a solution,” Jaskier says smoothly, collecting Geralt’s flyaway hat. “This,” he says, waving it a bit, “should work very well short-term, and I happen to carry brow and lash darkener. That should keep people from looking too long at his face and noticing his eyes.”

Eskel quirks a brow and the corner of his mouth. “Prepared for everything, huh?”

“Much as I would like to be, they’re for personal use,” Jaskier says playfully. 

He notices Geralt’s eyes snap to his face and narrow in apparent scrutiny. 

“I mostly wear it for performances,” Jaskier adds, guessing. “It gets mussed too easily while traveling for me to wear it every day.”

 _Hmm, perhaps that wasn’t it,_ Jaskier thinks as Geralt keeps looking at him. But then the kid blinks a couple times and looks up at Eskel, then rapidly down at the ground, and Jaskier is left wondering.

“You were making camp?” Jaskier asks Eskel instead. It’s earlier than Geralt usually wound down for the day when they were traveling.

“Yeah. Didn’t want to try and ford the river with Heart here in the dark, figured I’d set up for the night and go in the morning,” Eskel says, nodding at his horse.

“The inkeep in the last village said there was a man living near the ford. He might have a raft?” Geralt comments. His voice sounds just a little wavery to Jaskier.

Eskel gets a sarcastic twist to his mouth. “There is a man at the ford with a raft. He wasn’t interested in taking a single traveler across so late in the day. Or so he said.”

“Oh,” Geralt says, and droops a little.

Eskel blinks and then breaks into a smile, and, to both Jaskier’s and Geralt’s surprise, hauls Geralt up to sit on his hip. “Well, he’ll have three customers and two horses tomorrow morning, and meanwhile we can catch up, huh?”

Geralt ducks his head a bit in the way Jaskier’s come to associate with the kid blushing, but he smiles back at Eskel.

“I was just about to go catch dinner,” Eskel continues. “Want to come with?”

Geralt nods enthusiastically, then halts and clearly tries for a more measured response. “If I’m not going to—get in the way.”

“Not at all, wolf, not at all.”

“And I’ll look after Roach and set up our bedrolls. Anything else you need done, Eskel?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Eskel half-drawls.

Eskel lets Geralt down, and the kid dashes over to retrieve his sling and almost bounces back to Eskel’s side, tucking a lock of stray hair behind his ear. Eskel chuckles and picks up a crossbow and a small sack, and they head off into the woods.

Jaksier watches them go, smiling foolishly, until Roach nudges him with a snort.

“Ah!” he says. “Of course, my dear lady, where are my manners.”

He gets on with his own tasks, properly chastened. He even takes the time to set up a spit for roasting over the fire Eskel has going.

The boys are back by the time he’s finished grooming both Roach and Heart. The latter required some bribery, but he figures it’s a good way to thank Eskel. 

The two Witchers have what looks like a capercaillie in hand, already field-dressed, and Geralt's also holding a bundle of plants; Jaskier sees spring onions and horseradish in there, which will go well with the bird.

"Excellent!" Jaskier says, clapping his hands together. "And I've everything set up for cooking. Let's get started, shall we?"

They slice all the plants and stuff the horseradish and some early garlic bulbs into the body cavity of the capercaillie, and Eskel ties the legs with twine and threads it onto the spit, before securing it with more. They all wash their hands with a sliver of soap and sit to take turns rotating the spit.

Jaskier manages to get a pass on his turn by playing his lute for a little evening entertainment, and in what feels like almost no time at all, they've eaten and Eskel tells Geralt, who is trying to stifle a yawn, to get lie down and let he and Jaskier clean up.

Geralt protests slightly, but when Jaskier agrees with Eskel he acquiesces and lays down on his bedroll.

They clean in the relative quiet of the night, neither of them speaking. Jaskier is biting his tongue, trying to figure out how to phrase his question.

"You said..." Jaskier starts, a little uneasy, "that Geralt went through the mutations twice?"

Geralt must be asleep, because Jaskier can’t imagine any other reason for Eskel’s next words.

“I was so afraid I’d lose him,” the other Witcher says almost inaudibly, looking at the boy curled up near the fire.

Jaskier hums quietly. He wants to hear more, despite how morbid the wish is. Eskel sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself, voicing things he may not have told anyone else before, and speaking aloud could shatter this mood.

“The Trials of the Grasses— they were supposed to be just one time. One mountain to scale, for both of us, at the same time. We were so _sure_ that we’d be able to overcome everything else, head out on the Path, as long as we both lived through the mutations,” Eskel continues. “Chird—the mage’s assistant—said the first thing Geralt asked about on waking was me. I know I asked after Geralt.”

He huffs, short and sharp. “Then Hieronymus, the mage, noticed how quickly Geralt recovered. I don’t know if he wound up pushing for it or if he just brought it up, but he and the training masters decided they would put Geralt through another round. Rourke told us it’d been done before. Originally it was going to be both Geralt and another boy in our cohort, but," Eskel's face hardens, "Gethin decided to tell Geralt about what _exactly_ he was planning to do when he was even _better_ than the rest of us Witchers. Arrogant bastard didn’t realize that anyone as clearly _special_ as he was might not share his opinions. Geralt smashed his nose in and the instructors finished it when they found out what he’d said.”

Jaskier is suddenly aware that his mouth is hanging slightly open.

Eskel glances at him with an eyebrow raised.

“I hadn’t realized,” Jaskier says, a little shakily.

“Some people just can’t have the kind of power we do,” Eskel says, mouth a grim line. “Instructors made sure we knew _why_ , when they had to do it.”

“Gods,” Jaskier whispers.

“Yeah. They hammered it into our heads that we weren't _special_ , not like that, but about every other cohort, one would pop up. Anyway, Gethin was dead, so come next Trials season, it was just Geralt walking into the room with the latest group of Bastion boys.” Eskel turns his head back to look at Geralt. “He was in a coma for a week afterwards. Vesemir almost killed Varin when he suggested euthanizing Geralt. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so helpless, before or after.”

“But he woke up, clearly,” Jaskier says, though suddenly he’s struck by the image of adult Geralt, scarred white skin and even whiter hair, quiet and subdued. A man like the ghost of the redheaded, freckled, almost bubbly boy he’s been traveling with for the last week.

“He did,” Eskel says, then sighs and rolls his shoulders. He scours the last plate with a small burst of Igni and heads over to lie down next to Geralt. Geralt murmurs sleepily and curls into Eskel’s chest, and Eskel drapes an arm over him before closing his eyes.

Jaskier watches them for a moment. Then he puts his things away and lies down on his bedroll. It takes him a long time to get to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unscrewing the top of this jar labeled "Eskel feels about Geralt" and suddenly the whole thing exploded like it was highly carbonated??? AND ALL THIS SADNESS CAME POURING OUT?!?!??


	3. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *faceplants full-on into the ground* *waves a tiny victory flag with one hand*

“Want me to work with you on Signs, Geralt?” Eskel asks the next day, after Jaskier has convinced Fark to take them across the Dyfne.

Geralt sits bolt upright and nods.

Jaskier has to smother his smile. Geralt is so obviously enamored of his adult best friend, and he’s spent the whole of the time he and Jaskier have been traveling trying to be helpful. This was less of a question of ‘if’ than it was of ‘now?’

“We’re gonna start with Quen, easiest to do on a horse,” Eskel says.

Geralt looks like he might be biting his cheek again.

Eskel snorts. “I know it’s not the most exciting Sign, but damned if it isn’t probably the most useful, wolf. Not getting injured is by far the best way to stay alive.”

Geralt hunches a little. “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t apologize,” Eskel says, slightly amused. “I know I didn’t think much of it either at the start, but about the third time a drowner gave me a scar I really didn’t need I suddenly realized it was worth it.”

That gets a little giggle out of Geralt.

“Show me the hand sign,” Eskel says.

Geralt demonstrates an open palm with the smallest finger curled all the way down, the next two crooked, the pointer straight, and the thumb just slightly curled. Jaskier, curious himself, makes an attempt as well and frowns as his middle and ring fingers refuse to cooperate.

“It tends to be easier with the off hand,” Eskel says to Jaskier. “Not to mention you usually have a sword in your dominant hand when you’re using it.”

Jaskier laughs, a little sheepishly, and finds it is easier to get his fingers to hold the correct shapes with his left hand. Eskel nitpicks at Geralt a little—”eventually it doesn’t need to be perfect, but until then it’s a good way to apply the concentration you need”—and finally pronounces himself satisfied with the shape. After that is where Jaskier promptly becomes lost—he doesn’t have a lick of magic, and Eskel is using terminology he just can’t properly parse.

However, he’s quite used to being more-or-less strictly decorative, and he’s also entirely capable of amusing himself. He retrieves his lute from its case and begins playing quietly; he has a few songs to fine-tune.

“Ha!” he hears, a little while later, and looks at Geralt to see a slight gold shimmer overlaying his skin.

“Good. Now, how effective is it?” Eskel says, and a moment later the glow shatters.

Geralt makes an offended noise and Roach’s ears go back, but she’s used to a certain amount of shenanigans ensuing while being ridden and they swing forward again after a moment.

“How else did you think we were going to test it, pup?” Eskel asks with amusement, bouncing a small stone in his hand. “Cast it again.”

Geralt gets that half-pouting scowl on his face, but immediately starts working again, and the cycle repeats. Eskel collects more rocks when they break and lead their horses, which also gives Geralt a while to recover. 

When Geralt starts getting the hang of getting the Sign up, in late afternoon, Eskel catches Jaskier’s gaze and twitches his hand in a gesture Jaskier recognizes as a request to play louder. Jaskier blinks for a moment, but despite the exact circumstances being novel, he recognizes the idea of introducing distractions to someone performing a task to teach them how to perform under pressure. Therefore, the next time Geralt starts the sign for Quen, Jaskier starts to play a particularly _loud_ portion of a song, out of the blue. The kid messes up, as expected, and turns his head to look at Jaskier, a little shocked. 

Jaskier shrugs and smiles semi-apologetically and keeps playing. Geralt squints, suspicious, but turns back to the task at hand. In the name of not being predictable, Jaskier doesn’t interrupt his next attempt, but he _does_ do it again, intermittently. 

After the third screw-up, Geralt stares at Eskel searchingly and says “You could have told me you were changing the exercise.”

Eskel smiles. “Ah, but then you’d have been waiting for it.”

“I am _now_ ,” Geralt says.

“I think I’ll be able to keep the distractions fresh,” Jaskier says, and punctuates his next statement with a musical flourish. “I do teach on occasion, and a large part of being a performer is being able to work through mild chaos.”

By the time they stop for the evening, Geralt is clearly exhausted. All the same, he gets his second wind the moment Eskel ruffles his hair and tells him he did good. Jaskier has to bite his tongue to keep from cooing over the both of them.

“Stay at camp tonight, wolf,” Eskel says after they’ve groomed the horses and gotten the fire started. “Tomorrow we’re going to work on stamina, you need rest for that.”

Geralt nods in assent, and off Eskel goes.

“So, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “No hard feelings, hopefully?”

Geralt looks at him for a long moment, face stern, and Jaskier almost starts worrying before Geralt says “Play a song about dragons and we’re even.”

Jaskier laughs aloud and takes up his lute. If he’s learned anything about Geralt as a child it’s that he’s just as much of a nitpicker for accuracy as he is as an adult, so he’s going to have to use some of his own private compositions. He has one about Borch that doesn’t go into any of the _personal_ details of that particular adventure, and so he strikes up the tune and begins playing.

Geralt frowns when he sings of the golden scales of Villentretenmerth, legend among dragons and men alike, but the tale of how the gold dragon traveled from afar to answer a call for help from the green-scaled dragon in Hengfors and defended her egg as his own gets a smile.

“Gold dragons aren’t real,” Geralt says when Jaskier’s finished, “but it makes a nice story.”

“Ah, my dear Witcher, that’s where you’re incorrect,” Jaskier retorts, delighting in the slight blush from the endearment. “The whole adventure truly occurred, and I was there, as were you and Yennefer. We all saw Borch; and unlike the other dragons, who I have been assured do not have scales nearly so distinctive as their names would suggest, his scales were so brilliant he might have been mistaken for a massive pile of golden coins, if he curled up and closed his eyes.”

Geralt’s eyes widen a little, in surprise and delight, and he begins asking all manner of questions. Jaskier laughs and has to answer with variations on ‘I don’t know’ to most of them—after all, he didn’t get a chance to interrogate Borch, much as he would have liked to—but when Geralt somewhat poutingly says that he’ll ask Yennefer instead, Jaskier flinches.

“What is it?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier takes a breath and tries to think of how to explain the messy side of the dragon hunt to an eleven-year-old Geralt.

“You and Yennefer have had a… somewhat tumultuous relationship, at times,” he eventually says. “Grand as the adventure was, it was rather unhappy for all of us. She might prefer not to think of it.”

Geralt’s face falls.

“It was several years ago,” Jaskier says hastily, “and everyone who needed to apologized and we’ve all made up since then. Yennefer and I even get on, now, at least better than before.”

Geralt still looks a little worried. “Why didn’t you—” he starts, and cuts himself off.

Jaskier’s heart melts, a little. He winks at Geralt. “Well, the first time we properly met, she put a knife to my balls, which I felt and still feel was rather undeserved. It snowballed from there.”

Geralt giggles and looks intrigued and a little embarrassed. “Would she say it was undeserved?” he asks, showing off his slightly uncanny insight.

Jaskier takes a bearing of great dignity. “She would likely say it was the most expeditious way to achieve her goals at the time.”

Geralt snickers a bit and Jaskier segues into a rather bouncy ballad about a rivalry between a man and a woman that turns to outright love when their friends conspire to push them into it— “Though that’s absolutely not the nature of our relationship,” he clarifies during an instrumental bit. “She’s a rather preternaturally lovely woman, as all sorceresses are, and I greatly admire her strength of character, but she has no particular interest in a middle-aged bard, and I shan’t wither of pining. Among other things,” he adds, thoughtfully, “I’ve pined enough.”

Eskel returns around the time Jaskier is singing of the secondary couple’s trials at the very altar. In his opinion, the man needs to be punched for his absolute lack of anything resembling analytical thought, but the composition isn’t his. He makes up for it with true scorn on behalf of the main man for the secondary’s actions and the secondary lady eluding a dance with her husband in favor of her cousin at the double wedding.

Geralt’s glued to him for the entire performance, and Eskel even hums along as he cooks his catch. He ends with a flourish shortly before the meal is done, and Geralt pelts him with queries about the lives of the characters after the end of the story. Jaskier holds himself back from laughter, as he suspects Geralt wouldn’t understand the actual cause, and answers what _he_ thinks, though prefacing his imaginings with a clarification that they are such.

“I’d’ve thought you’d be more interested in the courtly couple, pup,” Eskel says, some time in.

Geralt makes a face. “They’re not _really_ courtly, or at least _he_ isn’t. If they’re true loves, why won’t he believe her?”

Eskel looks amused, but Jaskier cuts in, charmed by Geralt's romanticism. “Exactly! If you’re in love with someone, you should at _least_ be willing to listen to an explanation from them. He jumps far too quickly to complete disbelief in her.”

Eskel cuts off any further discussion with food and an admonition to rest in preparation for tomorrow.

After they eat, Geralt curls up next to Eskel, as he had the previous night, but as Jaskier is spreading out his bedroll Geralt says, “You can sleep closer, if— if you want,” while his ears turn red.

Of course Jaskier has neither reason or desire _not_ to do so, and so Geralt falls asleep with Eskel’s arm around him and his hand in Jaskier’s own.

***

The next day Eskel makes good on his warning of stamina training, and has Geralt maintain an active Quen shield for as long as he can while Eskel—gently—batters at it. The time that Geralt can keep it up varies, but Jaskier doesn’t think he’s misinterpreting that it gets relatively longer throughout the day.

“We’re getting close to Vengerberg,” Jaskier observes when they have to halt practice and separate a little until other travelers on the road are out of eye- and earshot for the fifth time.

“Probably we’ll get there tomorrow,” Eskel agrees. “Won’t be able to practice on the way, too many people around.”

Geralt droops a little.

“Hey, none of that, pup. You’re doing well, and it’ll give you a chance to recover all the way, training like this is draining,” Eskel says to him.

“And if Yennefer needs some time to figure out how to undo this curse, I’m sure she’ll be willing to let the two of you practice a bit,” Jaskier adds, which visibly perks Geralt up.

That evening goes as easily as the last; thankfully, they manage to find a spot to pitch camp that isn’t near any other travelers, so they needn’t worry about anyone questioning why a man and a boy are traveling with a Witcher, nor about anyone noticing Geralt’s eyes. Eskel suggests that they transfer some of Roach's baggage, namely Geralt's swords, armor, and potions, to Heart as a further precaution.

"I wouldn't want to overload you," Jaskier says, a little concerned, but Eskel snorts.

"I'll just keep my heavy ass off of him for tomorrow," he says. "I won't have any trouble keeping up."

They start out the next morning as a group, but traffic on the road does pick up significantly as they reach the outskirts of Vengerberg, enough that Eskel splits off from Geralt and Jaskier and stays at least a mile behind them. In the interest of keeping Geralt from glancing over his shoulder at Eskel every hour or so, Jaskier recounts several stories about his lectures at Oxenfurt—namely, the ones where he actually learned something, because that way he can quiz Geralt to make sure his attention is focused.

It’s coming on to evening when they arrive at the walls of Vengerberg, and dim enough that Geralt’s pupils have dilated to a shape approaching human. Nobody is going to notice their shape or color now, not unless they shine a light directly into them. Moreover, the gates are still open, and none of the guards think they’re suspicious enough to speak with.

“It may take Eskel a little more time,” Jaskier says quietly. “I believe there’s a nightmarket in Vengerberg, and a noticeboard at the edge; we could go have some supper and wait for him before we go to Yennefer’s.”

Geralt thinks about it for a moment and then nods. “Can we buy him some sweet buns?” he asks, and Jaskier grins both with the thoughtfulness and the value of potential future bribery.

“Of course,” he says, and leads Geralt and Roach off to the nightmarket district.

***

Geralt dismounts, but sticks very close to Jaskier’s side for the whole adventure, and Jaskier is reminded rather forcefully that he’s probably never been around this many people before. All the same, he doesn’t seem scared, just wary, and he’s quite interested in the surroundings and all the goods on offer. Other market visitors, thankfully, are wary of Roach, which keeps her from expressing any of her temper on them. As far as supper goes Jaskier cedes the floor, as it were, to Geralt’s nose, and lets him pick out their vittles, which turns out to be a variety of dumplings from a vendor selling nothing but, baked potatoes with cheese, and an additional chicken sandwich for Geralt.

They wander the baker’s row last, while Geralt is happily smelling the air and trying to pick the perfect place to get dessert. He eventually picks one of the medium-sized stalls with a wide array of honey on offer in addition to their rolls and buns, and Jaskier hands over several ducats for five sweet buns of varying types. One, with sweet cheese in it, is for him, and two, with spices and different types of fruit, are for Eskel, and the last two, one with honey and one with spices and icing, are for Geralt.

Geralt’s buns disappear rapidly as they meander over to the notice board, which Eskel is browsing with every attitude of interest. Jaskier leaves the two spice buns, wrapped in one of his clean handkerchiefs, on a short stone wall very near the notice board, and watches from the corner of his eye as Eskel takes down a few sheets and scoops up the food to trail after them as Jaskier—being the only one here who remembers or knows the location of Yennefer’s shop—leads on.

The combination shop and apartment is in one of the upper-class neighborhoods, as one might expect of an Aretuza sorceress. It is also, technically, closed for the evening, but that doesn’t stop Jaskier knocking loudly on the door. It takes a minute or two, but eventually a window overlooking the street is opened and Yennefer calls out crossly.

“We are _closed_ , and if you keep hammering away like that I truly have no objections to cursing you!”

“Dearest Yennefer,” Jaskier starts, laughingly, “Does threatening to curse rude customers actually stop them from being unreasonable?”

There’s a moment of silence, presumably as Yennefer recognizes him, and then she says “It does when you follow through on it a few times and get away with it. I’ll be down in a moment.”

While they’re waiting, Eskel approaches, eyes glittering in the lanterns lining the street, and hands Jaskier back his handkerchief.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, to both Geralt and Jaskier.

“Of course,” Jaskier says, but is cut off by the door to Yennefer’s shop opening. She’s splendid in a heavy black silk dressing gown, and even without makeup and her hair in a loose bun she’s still objectively more attractive than most of the court ladies Jaskier’s ever met. She looks at them searchingly before her eyes catch on Geralt, who’s looking up at her with his lips slightly parted, absolutely gobsmacked. Jaskier can see the moment that she realizes that Geralt isn’t human—she blinks, and her face goes stern.

"Eskel, you can lead the horses around back, you should find space," Yennefer says, and waves a hand, making Geralt twitch.

"Thank you," Eskel says, and takes Roach and walks for a small alley between Yennefer's shop and her neighbor's.

“You’d best come inside,” Yennefer says, turning back to Geralt and Jaskier. "I can tell this is going to take a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not planning for this chapter to have so much Much Ado About Nothing in it, but here we are. (Incidentally, I think that would be a fun modern AU; Yen and Jaskier playing Beatrice and Benedick in a production in the style of the 2011 Tate/Tennant one, and ending up deciding they actually like each other by the end of it. Geralt's honestly just happy his boyfriend and girlfriend are getting along.)
> 
> edit: HEY LAURELNOSE ON TUMBLR DREW ART!! https://laurelnose.tumblr.com/post/620693063757676544/tiny-geralt-gets-to-eat-a-sticky-bun-goodnight


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